


these petals of mine.

by midnight_files



Category: TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki Disease, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23897500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight_files/pseuds/midnight_files
Summary: Red roses mean love. They mean desire; they mean devotion, admiration, affection; they mean—Beomgyu knows what they mean. Beomgyu knows the second Kai’s gaze meets his during the performance.
Relationships: Choi Beomgyu/Huening Kai
Comments: 12
Kudos: 100





	these petals of mine.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an au revolving around the Hanahaki Disease. If you're unfamiliar with it, it's a disease that causes you to cough up flowers if your love is unrequited. Eventually, the petals in your lungs suffocate you and you end up dying. You can get surgery to remove the disease but you lose your feelings for your beloved and your ability to love becomes weaker.
> 
> Flower cheat list!
> 
> Daffodils: New Beginnings.  
> Freesia: Thoughtfulness.  
> Daisies: Innocence.  
> Chrysanthemum: Honesty.  
> Forget-Me-Not: “Don’t forget me”.  
> (Red) Roses: Love.  
> Cornflowers: (Rumored to wilt if love isn’t reciprocated, but remains a vibrant blue if it is.)  
> Stock: Joyous life / Lasting, loving bond.  
> Heliotropes: Eternal love.  
> (White) Camellia: “My destiny is in your hands”.  
> (Red) Anemone: Forsaken love.  
> Cyclamen: Goodbye.  
> Blue violets: Faithfulness.  
> Primrose: “I can’t live without you”.  
> (Pink) Carnation: “I will never forget you”.  
> (White) Acacia: Secret love.  
> (Pale pink) Arbutus: “You’re the one I love”.  
> Lilacs: First love.
> 
> Title Cr. : My friend on twitter. :D

When they first meet, it’s by a batch of daffodils. They’re vibrant and telling, but Beomgyu knows little about flowers and is way too preoccupied by the short brunette crouched in front of them. He’s a year younger — a seventh grader — as indicated by the blue tie he’s donning, and he’s upset about something. Beomgyu wants to pry, but he doesn’t. Instead, he finds himself moving forwards until he’s able to crouch down beside the stranger; they sit there quietly until the teachers announce recess is over.

  
  


After that incident, Beomgyu begins to see him more often: in the library, at the playground, down the hallways. He’s not sure if the younger has been looking for him or if they’ve always been around each other this much and he’s only begun noticing now . Now, when his eyes would subconsciously search for the boy in the crowds.

  
  


Beomgyu finally learns his name—it’s Kai—when they bump into each other in the library. It’s like a scene out of the romance movies Beomgyu’s mother is enamored with. (He’d initially dreaded movie nights when it was her turn to choose, but somewhere down the road, he’d begun to appreciate them too.) His hand reaches for the last copy of ‘Magic Island’ when smaller, slender fingers brush over the back of his palm. The contact is brief and Kai immediately reels his hand away, but Beomgyu’s skin still feels like it’s on fire. He ends up giving Kai the book instead, smiling when the latter mumbles in gratitude.

Kai returns the book to him during recess the next day, while Beomgyu’s frowning at a blossomed bud of freesia—he learns the name later—that’s been trampled over. He then watches silently as Kai picks up the forgotten flower in his palms, carrying it over to where the daisies are blooming, and buries it beside them in the welcoming soil.

“You finished the book already?”

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

  
  


From then on, they grow inseparable. They meet every recess, free periods are spent at the library, and sometimes they stay after school to do their homework together. Beomgyu always accompanies Kai home, claiming he has to because he’s the ‘older brother’ after all, but most reasons go unsaid. Kai’s home is big enough for a prince; Beomgyu finds it both fitting and overwhelming. They’ve got 2 rooms for guests, but eventually the one by Kai’s becomes Beomgyu’s unofficial bedroom. The drawers are filled with clothes he accidentally forgets when he sleeps over—Kai’s mother cleans them for him and organizes them there—and the walls are tacked with childish signs like ‘BeomKai’s Hang Out’ and ‘No Girls Allowed’. Two months in, when Kai’s family has all grown fond of Beomgyu, Kai warns him not to date his sisters because that would be breaking the ‘Bro Code’. 

  
  


“Gyu,” his mother calls for him amid their movie sessions one evening. Her tone is impish and Beomgyu hesitates before humming out in acknowledgement. “How come you never invite that boy here?”

Well, that would be because… and his thoughts trail off, ending uncertain .He does a quick scan of their apartment; it’s narrow, there’s paint scraping off the walls, and the floorboards are squeaky and unpolished. He’s embarrassed, he realizes. He knows it can’t be helped; his mother has been raising him by herself and the wages from her two jobs barely cover the rent fee. “Don’t know,” he says instead. 

His mother figures him out though, she always does. Beomgyu hates it, just this once, because he knows that she’s straining herself by working another shift just to afford a new TV monitor. “Do you like it?” She asks tentatively when he comes home from school on a Friday evening and he watches as she fiddles with the sleeves of her shirt nervously. “I know it’s not much, but I’ll clean up over the weekend and in two weeks I should be able to afford painting your room blue.”

  
  


Chrysanthemum. There’s a bouquet of them that Kai has clasped between his hands when Beomgyu sees him the following day. “What’re those for?” Kai startles at his voice, unaware the older had approached him from behind, before beaming his bright (and quite contagious) smile.

“Happy birthday!”

  
  


A quick google search during the last few minutes of computer class teaches him that Chrysanthemum represents honesty and Beomgyu glances out the window, espying his apartment complex a few blocks down.

Later on, he grabs Kai’s wrist and they walk in silence to Beomgyu’s home. Beomgyu’s palms are beginning to get sweaty and he feels his breathing quicken its pace, but Kai simply glances up at him with eyes that resemble a fawn’s and Beomgyu finds himself calm enough to insert his key and open the door. His mother isn’t home and the apartment’s obviously nowhere near ready for guests; the cardboard box the TV came in hasn’t been discarded yet and the lightbulb flickers. Kai doesn’t seem to mind though. He walks right past Beomgyu, shrugs off his backpack, and launches himself onto the couch. “Comfy! What show are we watching?”

  
  


Beomgyu’s mother finds them passed out on the couch when she comes home and spends a good thirty minutes trying to wake them up so that they can comfortably sleep on Beomgyu’s bed. His bed isn’t big, but they’re small enough to fit. Kai borrows a blue sweater he finds in Beomgyu’s messy closet; it’s too big for him, but Kai refuses to take it off. Beomgyu never gets the sweater back. He doesn’t really mind, though.

  
  


Kai’s the first one to greet him after he gets his diploma. The auditorium is filled with chatter and the clicks of a dozen cameras, but it all falls deaf to Beomgyu’s ears once his bestfriend parts his lips. “I’ll miss you.” Kai’s got a bouquet of forget-me-nots this time; the only reason Beomgyu knows their name is because Kai had drawn them beside the message he’d left on Beomgyu’s yearbook. He wants to reassure Kai, let him know that they’ll still see each other despite no longer attending the same school, but he knows they’ll sound like empty promises so he opts to pull Kai into a hug instead. 

* * *

Beomgyu meets Choi Soobin in highschool. He’s a year older than him and his defining trait is having four dimples. Soobin’s nice to hang out with—he’s smart, kind, funny (when he’s not trying to be), and they share a lot in common especially when it comes to music—but he’s not Kai. Nonetheless, they grow close and Beomgyu finds himself spending less and less time waiting on messages from the younger.

  
  


“You should visit him,” Soobin mentions offhandedly when they’re studying in the older’s bedroom one night. Beomgyu stops working on the algebra problem in front of him (not that he’d gotten very far) and furrows his eyebrows together at the comment. “I’m sure he misses you too.”

After Soobin’s fast asleep, Beomgyu reaches for his phone and dials in the number he’s memorized by heart, thumb hovering over the ‘call’ button. He hasn’t met up nor talked to the other (not verbally at least) since he’d begun highschool and he’s not sure why; he’s also not sure why it has to take Soobin nudging him in his sleep for him to ring the boy up (accidentally).

“Why’re you awake?” Kai asks him, voice drowsy, “Can’t sleep, ‘Gyu hyung?” 

Beomgyu hangs up.

* * *

Kai ends up deciding to attend the same highschool as him and a thousand thoughts race through Beomgyu’s mind when the boy appears at his apartment door, grin cheeky as ever. He’s grown significantly, only about an inch shorter than Beomgyu now, and he invites himself in as if nothing’s changed between the two. “What color do you think fits me the most? I need to leave a good impression on the first day of school.”

They decide that yellow is definitely Kai’s color; however, the morning school starts, the autumn breeze is harsh. Therefore, Kai ends up wearing that forgotten blue sweater he’d stolen from Beomgyu and the latter changes his mind.  _ Blue _ is definitely Kai’s color.

  
  


“Are those for the talent show?” Soobin asks when the three of them are cooped up in Kai’s study room. Beomgyu perks up curiously at that and then notices the music sheets littered across Kai’s desk. It was no secret that Kai was musically gifted; Beomgyu’s heard him practice piano before and after five lessons in guitar (which Kai had begged Beomgyu for), Kai had become better than him. It was no surprise either; after all, his sisters were a part of their schools’ choirs and his parents were well-known musicians.

“Yeah, I’m preparing something!” Kai quips in excitement when the glass door slides open revealing another freshmen Beomgyu had seen during orientation. “You mean  _ we’re _ preparing something.” Beomgyu feels a bit unsettled at the way Kai and Taehyun—Soobin apparently knows him from singing classes outside of school—drift off into their own world.

“Beomgyu.”

“What?”

“Stop staring at them like that.”

“Like what?”

  
  


“Absolutely not,” Beomgyu states when Soobin points at a bouquet of red roses. (They’re currently arguing over a congratulatory gift for Taehyun and Kai.) Despite his protest, the older snatches it off the shelves anyways. “Pray tell me, Beomgyu, what’s wrong with roses?” It’s evident he’s had enough; Beomgyu’s rejected almost everything the shop has to offer by now. “Drop the meanings already! Roses are a go-to for everyone and everything, stop overthinking it.”

Red roses mean love. They mean desire; they mean devotion, admiration, affection; they mean—Beomgyu knows what they mean. Beomgyu knows the second Kai’s gaze meets his during the performance. 

“ _ No matter where you are, no matter what season, _ ” __

He shoves the bouquet into Soobin’s palms and frantically excuses himself to the bathroom.

“ _ If we’re together, it feels like summer. _ ”

Petals of cornflowers fly into the sink he hurls over; they’re tauntingly bright when they greet him and Beomgyu watches as they quickly lose their color. He watches because there’s nothing he can do—and he realizes as the blue specks disappear down the drain that there’s  _ never _ been anything he could do.

  
  


“Do you regret it?” Beomgyu asks his mother one night while they’re huddled on the couch, watching whichever soap opera is on that night. (Beomgyu hasn’t been paying attention.) “Regret what?” His mother returns, turning to face him. Beomgyu’s sure she knows—despite how hard he’d been trying to hide it—because the smile she gives him is too reassuring for such a vague question.

“The,” and he has to pause because he’s coughing again; this time it’s a handful of stock. “The surgery,” he finishes, grimacing because of the pain in his lungs. He’s a month shy of being 17 years old; “too young,” the doctors always say with pity when examining him.

“Never,” his mother replies, brushing away his fringe before leaning in to press a kiss onto his forehead. “If I hadn’t gotten it, I wouldn’t be here with you right now.” Beomgyu should get the surgery, he’s aware; he can’t leave his mother alone and he’s just a kid, he shouldn’t even be thinking about relationships—let alone love—at this age. 

“Gyu,” his mother cuts through his thoughts. “You and I,” she pauses to playfully prod at his cheek, “we have different stories.”

“You’ll learn how rare love is to come by.”

* * *

Soobin’s graduation comes too soon. Beomgyu feels empty without him—not grounded, not anchored, like he’s going to collapse at any moment. “Call me if you need anything,” the older had said when Beomgyu had helped him load his moving boxes into his car. However, college was already burdensome enough as is so Beomgyu makes a silent promise to keep his mouth shut.

Beomgyu gets messages from Soobin every other day asking him how he’s feeling, reminding him of his fragile state, warning him not to overexert himself. “I’m fine.” He’ll text back, but Soobin will somehow always get it out of him. 

“Heliotropes.”

  
  


Alone. Beomgyu feels alone. It’s an isolation he’s put himself in, out of fear and insecurities, but it doesn’t make him miss Kai any less than he already does. Kai knows he’s avoiding him—how could he  _ not _ know—but he doesn’t say anything of it; it’s just like before.

Beomgyu watches silently as Taehyun and Kai drift further and further away from him. Taehyun’s nice, funny, smart, and he’s got a voice that blends beautifully with Kai’s when they sing together; he’s everything Kai deserves and more. Beomgyu regrets never giving Taehyun the chance to get close to him, having allowed his unattractive jealousy to prevent him from what he knows would’ve been a good friendship, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. Taehyun has stopped trying—Beomgyu doesn’t blame him for it—but it’s not like he seems to need anyone other than Kai.

As for Kai, Beomgyu notices that he doesn’t really need anyone other than Taehyun either. (He doesn’t need  _ him _ anymore.)

  
  


It’s a month before Kai’s third talent show performance—a Friday to be exact, Beomgyu’s favorite—when he finds himself cornered in the gymnasium’s storage room. He’d offered the basketball coach help in cleaning up the place after their team’s practice in exchange for not having to attend gym class. It seems that Kai had figured that out because he’s currently looking up—the younger’s growth spurt hadn’t stopped since he’d entered high school—at a pair of narrowed eyes. “You’re not being honest with me.”

“What’re you talking about?” He tries and then he begins to feel the familiar constricting of his chest; his palms begin to perspire and he knows that he can’t do this. He’s going to get caught if he stays here, if he keeps looking into the mesmerizing hazels that shimmer with purity and innocence.

This is the first time Beomgyu’s ever seen Kai mad and he flinches when the younger slams his palms against the wall behind him, encasing his head in between. “What have you been hiding from me, Beomgyu?” It’s also the first time Kai’s said his name without any formalities.

_ Camellia _ , Beomgyu knows even before he shoves at Kai’s chest and locks himself in the boy’s locker room. Kai bangs at the door pleadingly, but it only makes Beomgyu cough harder. The garbage can is full of white petals smeared with droplets of his blood.

  
  


Beomgyu doesn’t tell Kai he went to the performance. Instead, he ends up watching through the projector room and asks a girl from Kai’s class to anonymously hand him a single purple hyacinth. He’s not sure if Kai still harbors his fascination with flowers; perhaps it’s just Beomgyu who’s stuck in his old ways.

“It’s okay,” reads the text Kai sends him at midnight.

  
  


Beomgyu’s graduating; he’ll be leaving Kai again. He’s not sure if that should feel like a breath of fresh air or his last breath. He doesn’t invite Kai to his graduation, not that he needs to since the younger volunteers to be the ceremony’s color guard, but still. He can’t bear facing him today and he hopes Kai gets the hint and respects his decision, no matter how much he might resent the older for it.

Kai’s dressed in all white when he marches down the aisle with the flagpole held firmly in his hand. The patch he has over his left eye is also white and his long hair is styled in soft curls. Maybe white was his color instead?

Beomgyu ends up approaching him in the end, regardless of how determined he was in not talking to the younger. “Hey,” he sounds breathless and they both know why, but he still bites his cheek to prevent himself from coughing. Not now, not now,  _ not now _ .

“Hi,” Kai offers back, pretending things are alright like he always does; Beomgyu knows better. Before he can apologize, Kai reaches into his bag and pulls out Beomgyu’s blue sweater from years ago. “Sorry I never gave this back. It probably doesn’t fit anymore, but it’s still yours.”

Blue is definitely his color. “Keep it.”

—

Beomgyu rooms with Soobin and Yeonjun, a junior who majors in dance like him. They get along well and if Beomgyu ignores the fact that he’s constantly on the verge of passing out from coughing, he’s probably the happiest he’s been in a while. Yeonjun’s dad jokes and Soobin’s reactions of secondhand embarrassment are good distractions. 

They’re good, but not good enough.

Beomgyu still finds himself staring at his ceiling longingly at night, waiting for the message notifications that never come, and spewing anemone. The petals become a darker shade of red each night, not only because his feelings have grown stronger, but because the roots are grazing his heart.

  
  


“I’m setting up a surgery appointment for you,” Yeonjun states firmly when he catches Beomgyu in the act of disposing all the flowers he’s coughed up for that week. “You’re getting this fixed.”

“Hyung,” he begins, but Yeonjun won’t listen to him. He glances at Soobin for help, but the male is silent, avoiding his gaze in favor of his empty coffee mug. “Yeonjun’s right. Beomgyu, you’re a lot worse than you think you are.”

“All this over someone who doesn’t even text you, Beomgyu!” Yeonjun finally shouts in exasperation, running a hand through his navy locks. “Do you think I don’t see the way your face lights up whenever you get a notification? Do you think I don’t notice the way it falls when you realize it’s not him?”

“Does he know?” Soobin asks as if the silence between the three of them isn’t heavy enough. Beomgyu smiles bitterly, turns on his heel, and locks the door to his room.

  
  


Fate’s too cruel to him, Beomgyu thinks when he spots Kai at his campus, four days into his sophomore semester. He’s at a round table, eating with Yeonjun and Soobin, when he hears the same voice he’d fallen for all those years ago. His eyes immediately try to locate the source and then he sees him; his hair is a lighter shade of brown and he’s standing by the vending machine. Questions hang on the tip of his tongue: _ Why are you here? When did you arrive? Why didn’t you tell me?  _

The crowd in front of him shifts and Beomgyu spots Taehyun too. The questions find their answers.

“That’s him?” Yeonjun’s voice asks from his left, but it’s far from curious or welcoming. Before Beomgyu has time to react, Yeonjun stands up from the table and walks over to the vending machine, grabbing Kai’s wrist and dragging him over to their table. Had the dining hall not been particularly rowdy at this time of day, all eyes would’ve been on them.

“Hi, I’m Yeonjun,” his roommate finally lets go of Kai, much to Beomgyu’s relief, but Kai’s still nervous. Beomgyu reads it in the way Kai fiddles with his fingers and rolls his tongue over his lips, eyes unsure which direction to look at. Soobin stands up next, but it’s to drag Yeonjun away before he can cause a scene. Kai’s height rivals Soobin’s, Beomgyu notes, before he silently places his hands over Kai’s trembling ones.

They sit wordlessly as Beomgyu hands over his lunch to Kai, not wanting the younger to go hungry and having lost his own appetite. He expects Taehyun to interject at one point, but he doesn’t; nobody does. 

When Kai finishes eating, Beomgyu holds his breath, dreading the words that are about to come out of the younger male.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

  
  


Beomgyu’s unable to refuse Kai when the younger suggests that they go back to his dorm. “We need to talk,” is his reasoning. 

“It’s a long story,” Beomgyu tries to joke.

“I don’t care. I’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

Beomgyu’s not surprised when he learns that Kai lives in the most expensive residence building the school offers; rather, he’s surprised when Kai opens the door and he sees a flurry of different petals strewn across the common area. It mirrors his own dorm, when he hasn’t tidied it up.

One quick scan tells him that the only occupants of the suite are Kai and Taehyun, so this scenery makes little sense to him. 

“Who?”  _ Do you love? _

Kai turns around, giving Beomgyu the weakest smile he’s ever seen Kai wear. Kai, who’s taught him so much about happiness; Kai, who never fails to cheer people up; Kai, who swears a silent oath to be optimistic, has been suffering in front of him and Beomgyu’s never noticed.

“I’m sorry,” is all Beomgyu can manage because he wants to embrace Kai—god knows how much he wants to—but all that he can think about is that Kai’s  _ in love _ . He can taste the cyclamen before they even appear and he needs to go; he needs to go before Kai finds out—

Everything’s too blurry. He can feel Kai’s hands reach out, trying to steady him, but the more he holds back the flowers screaming to be let out, the dizzier he feels himself getting. Kai’s lips are moving, but all Beomgyu can hear is the drumming of his own heart. He’s not sure if his legs or sight give away first.

  
  


When Beomgyu awakens, he’s back in his own dorm. Soobin and Yeonjun are both restlessly pacing at the foot of his bed and when he coughs weakly, they immediately rush to his side.

“Saturday,” Yeonjun declares, lips pursed in a thin line and worry evident in his tone, no matter how threatening he attempts to sound. “You’re getting that surgery this Saturday, Beomgyu. That’s final.”

Soobin collects the cyclamens that practically tear from Beomgyu’s lungs, At first, Soobin had avoided them, unable to handle the blood they were drenched in, but he’d gotten used to it by now. “Tell him. Tell him before it’s all gone so you don’t have any regrets.”

  
  


Beomgyu meets up with Kai the next day, wanting to thank him with icecream for carrying him back to his dorm. “Mint chocolate,” he orders for the younger knowingly. 

Kai almost squeals when he sees the dessert, ‘thank you’ falling from his lips far too many times to count.  _ I wasn’t there to watch him grow _ , Beomgyu realizes. No matter how much Kai still radiates with youth and innocence, there was no denying that he'd grown. He was taller, his shoulders were broader, and there was also a newfound sense of maturity.

Soobin’s advice rings in his head.

He brings a tissue up to Kai’s lips instinctively, wiping away the crumbs of the cone that remain on his lips when their gazes meet; Beomgyu’s reminded of the day he coughed up cornflowers, reminded of the way Kai had sounded and looked that day, reminded of the overwhelming love he’d felt and how—no matter how intense the pain he felt was—he would never want to love anyone but Kai.

  
  


“I can’t do it,” Beomgyu announces that night when Yeonjun is seconds away from scheduling an official appointment. Both of his roommates look at him incredulously and Beomgyu knows that they’ve both got lectures to give him, but he continues before either of them can say anything. “I don’t know how to do anything but love him.”

  
  


‘ _It’ll always be you_ ,’ cry the blue violets, primroses, and pink carnations that throw him into coughing fits hard enough to cause him to black out momentarily.

He nearly faints again during dance practice and Kai, who had recently joined the team, is the one that catches him. Their teacher excuses them, obviously concerned about how Beomgyu is holding up, and the two of them head to Kai’s dorm.

“Not mine,” Beomgyu had managed to plead in between coughs when they were leaving the studio. “Yeonjun,” is the short explanation.

Beomgyu collapses on Kai’s bed, eyelids too heavy to remain open, when Kai inquires about his surgery. “Why didn’t you get it? You’re going to—Beomgyu you’re…” The way Kai trails off is telling and Beomgyu reaches out blindly, finding Kai’s arm and tugging him into bed with him.

_ Just for tonight, let me be selfish. _

“I don’t want to lose the only thing that’s real.”

  
  


The sun tickles his chin when Beomgyu wakes up the next day. Today, he’s greeted with white acacia and pale pink arbutus petals. He’s well accustomed to them. They’re soft to touch, but that alone is deceiving because they hurt the most to cough up. Which is why Beomgyu hesitates in confusion. He doesn’t remember spewing them last night; he doesn’t remember a lot from last night.

That’s when Kai’s arm loops around his waist, tugging him closer persistently as the brunette drowsily mumbles, “five more minutes.” It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense at  _ all _ , so Beomgyu ignores Kai’s childish protests and sits up before tugging the younger up as well. “Kai.”

His voice seems to work like an alarm because Kai’s eyes immediately shoot open and then Beomgyu watches as a flurry of emotions race across his visage. Surprise, shock, fear—Beomgyu watches Kai’s gaze flicker from his face to the petals he’s holding in his hand and before Kai can excuse himself out of bed, Beomgyu latches a deathly grip onto the younger’s arm.

“I’m sorry,” Kai’s innocence rivals that of a daisy’s. Perhaps that’s what Kai is: a daisy; Beomgyu’s the forgotten freesia Kai had helped rebirth all those years ago. Kai coughs painfully and Beomgyu wordlessly lets the petals slip through his fingers, hand reaching to cup Kai’s jawline.

“Lilacs,” he mumbles, plucking the single petal stuck hanging off of Kai’s plump lower lip. “I’ve coughed those for you too.”

Before Kai can say anything, Beomgyu closes the distance between them. Their lips mold together almost perfectly and although they haven’t parted for air just yet, Beomgyu feels like he can breathe the easiest he’s been able to in a long while. Kai’s lips hesitate against his, but when Beomgyu’s fingers slide into his hair, something flips in him like a switch. ‘ _ It’s real _ ’, he knows that’s what the younger’s thinking as they continue the sloppy onslaught of kisses.

Cornflowers. They buy cornflowers together later and Beomgyu watches as they shine a bright blue with vigor.

Blue is their color.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hi! If you have any comments, notes, concerns, please leave them below. >___<  
> [ twt. ](https://twitter.com/kaifiIes)
> 
> Flower cheat list!
> 
> Daffodils: New Beginnings.  
> Freesia: Thoughtfulness.  
> Daisies: Innocence.  
> Chrysanthemum: Honesty.  
> Forget-Me-Not: “Don’t forget me”.  
> (Red) Roses: Love.  
> Cornflowers: (Rumored to wilt if love isn’t reciprocated, but remains a vibrant blue if it is.)  
> Stock: Joyous life / Lasting, loving bond.  
> Heliotropes: Eternal love.  
> (White) Camellia: “My destiny is in your hands”.  
> (Red) Anemone: Forsaken love.  
> Cyclamen: Goodbye.  
> Blue violets: Faithfulness.  
> Primrose: “I can’t live without you”.  
> (Pink) Carnation: “I will never forget you”.  
> (White) Acacia: Secret love.  
> (Pale pink) Arbutus: “You’re the one I love”.  
> Lilacs: First love.


End file.
